Détente
by kimbari
Summary: William Adama and Laura Roslin come to an understanding on Kobol. This is not a story for children.


Détente

by kimbari

A/N: This fic was written for graceom on Live Journalfor her contribution to Katrina relief. Huge thanks to karihan for the beta.

* * *

"Where are you going?" Adama asked. Their palaver had come to a natural pause and Laura got up and dusted off her behind. 

"Call of nature," Laura said. "Care to come along?" She raised a wry eyebrow as she straightened outside the shelter of the tarp.

"Actually, I think I should," he said. He climbed carefully to his feet and faced her.

"Really, there's no need," Laura said. "I've been doing this since I was two..."

"There may still be Cylons out there," Adama pointed out. He reached down and retrieved his firearm. "Now that I've got you back, I don't want to risk losing you again."

She stared at him for a moment, absorbing those words, then smiled. "All right," she said and set off through the woods. He followed slightly behind her, his weapon ready.

A good distance from the camp she turned and stopped him. "I can take it from here," she said and continued into the brush.

"Don't go too far," he warned.

"I won't," she called without looking back.

He thought of something. "Be careful of the foliage!"

"I know," she called, waving her hand. "Stay away from the shiny leaves."

Adama allowed himself a smile and proceeded to survey the area. They were in a lush, quiet glen. The vegetation, like everywhere else on the planet, seemed to glow with an eerie inner light; he could hear birds and small animals, invisible in the verdant underbrush. The sky was painted with brush strokes of cirrus clouds. It was a beautiful world, the price for returning paid in blood.

He wondered if they were finished paying.

"Laura!" he called. It had gotten too quiet.

"I'm all right," she called back, her voice a little too faint for his liking. He scanned the trees, frowning. Suddenly, a noise like a single note from a trombone sounded in the brush. Startled, he snapped his gun up, ready to open fire. The woods were silent, however, except for the twittering of birds and after a moment Adama realized what the sound had been and lowered his weapon, grinning.

A few minutes later she returned to find him sitting on a flat boulder. She eyed him. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" he said. He managed to quash his smile, but not before it reached his eyes.

Laura caught that twinkle and rolled her eyes. "Never mind. Let's go." She turned back towards the camp.

"Not just yet," he said. He patted the boulder next to him. "Sit. There are some things we should discuss that the kids don't need to hear."

Laura hesitated. "We really should be getting back..."

"Please," Adama said. He offered a small smile, the equivalent of a wide and inviting grin from anyone else. Laura sat. The rock was warm from the sun, and she wriggled a bit, enjoying the heat.

After a long moment in which Adama casually scanned their surroundings, he said, "We found Elosha's grave. What happened?" He returned his gaze to her the moment he asked the question and wasn't surprised to see Laura's face tighten with grief. She didn't speak for a long time, then she said,

"She triggered... a mine, I guess. She went to inspect a gravestone by the path. Something flew up into the air and exploded." Laura closed her eyes. Tears slipped free, leaving shining trails down her face. "... a cost in blood," she whispered.

Adama studied her for a moment before reaching around her shoulders and pulling her close. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Laura nodded, then sniffled. She hadn't had time to mourn the loss of her counselor and friend and she welcomed the opportunity... and the embrace. It was as warm and as strong as she'd always imagined it would be, and she let herself relax into it.

The two of them sat quietly for a long time, at the bottom of an ocean of air. The only sound was the birds and faint voices from the campsite. The damp woods smelled like shades of green and the air moved gently, warming in the sun's rays. "Why didn't you tell me about the cancer?" Adama said.

Laura jerked away. Adama's gaze was steady. His tone wasn't accusing, but she heard it that way and that got her back up. "Because it's none of your business," she snapped.

"Try again," Adama said, and this time his tone was all too familiar. _Leave your bullshit at the door._ Laura slid off the boulder but he snagged her arm before she could get very far. She stared meaningfully at her arm where he held her, tried to pull free but he tightened his grip.

"You would have seen it as weakness," Laura said finally. "You had no respect, for me or the office. If I had told you I had cancer you would've declared me unfit to serve." Her gaze challenged him. "As you ultimately did, anyway."

"I had my reasons..." Adama said.

"You had _no_ reason to put me in jail!" Laura blazed. She yanked her arm out of his grasp. "And no right!"

"Can we let this water slide under the bridge?" Adama said, getting to his feet. "Neither of us can undo anything we've done."

"Oh, how very noble of you, Zeus," Laura said sarcastically. "You come down from Olympus dispensing forgiveness and demanding that we all just let bygones be bygones."

"And how very typical of you, Hera," Adama said. "No quarter given and none asked." His voice was cool.

Laura folded her arms. "I can't give what I don't have." Her eyes flashed steel as she stood there before him, defiant.

"You've already given, above and beyond," Adama observed. "When did you find out about the cancer?"

"The day the world ended," she told him, wondering what difference it made. "Why?"

"And you took on the responsibility of President..."

"Saying No was not an option," Laura said.

"Saying No is _always_ an option," Adama said. He held out his hand. Laura looked at his hand, then at his face. It was a silent face, as always, but his eyes were quite vocal. "What's the prognosis?" he asked.

"Doctor Cottle didn't tell you?" Laura said. Her arms remained firmly folded. Adama left his hand where it was.

"He mentioned doctor-patient confidentiality... please?" He stuck his hand out further. Laura stared at it coldly for a long moment before she relented and, with a sigh, gave him her own. He grasped her fingers tightly and pulled her closer, forcing her to hear what was in his eyes.

"It's in my lymphatic system, now," she said. "I have less than six months left."

Adama was silent for a moment. "Treatment?" he asked.

"Chamalla extract," she said. He studied her for a long moment, then said,

"The visions?"

"A side effect."

Adama cocked an eyebrow. "Not sent by the gods?"

"Does one have to preclude the other?" Laura asked. Adama smiled, surprising her.

"I suppose not." He was silent for a long time, thoughtful, holding her hand. The memory came, unbidden, of the dance they'd shared on Colonial Day. "This chamalla extract, it's not a cure?"

"There is no cure," Laura said. Her calm statement, her death sentence -- it clanged discordance in his head.

"Then I'm going to lose you, anyway." Adama's voice was rough as he stared at their linked hands.

Laura watched his face, surprised by the fear, the despair, the anger she saw there. She had no answers for him except the one he had given her. "Every day is a gift," she said softly. Adama looked up at her. "A very wise man told me that."

"Wise enough to finally see what's really important," Adama said. He looked into her face for so long and so intently that she blushed and had to look away. "You are so beautiful," he said gently.

Laura chuckled and shook her head. "I look like hell."

"Then hell is beautiful," Adama said.

"I don't think so," Laura said.

"Do you always argue when a man tells you you're beautiful?"

"Only when he's wrong," she said and Adama laughed.

"Then in this case, I can accept being wrong." A noisy silence ensued in which they each thought the other could hear their heart beat. In that silence, Adama drew her closer.

"Th-this is not a good idea," Laura said, and damned her voice for shaking.

"Maybe not," Adama said, his voice no steadier. "Why don't we just let it play out... see what happens." Laura opened her mouth to speak but every argument deserted her when he raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

"My hands are dirty," she whispered. Overcome, she said the first thing that popped into her head.

"Um-hmm," Adama said as he tenderly traced the contours of her face with his fingertips. His touch was so light, so sensuous, and she could feel that touch accomplishing what it set out to do as her long-dormant libido shifted into something like active. "Ohhh..." she breathed, and her eyes drifted shut as his fingers whispered down her cheek to her neck, and his thumb caressed her lips. They parted and she touched with her tongue, then pulled the entire tip of it into her mouth. He moaned, a sound she felt more than heard. Laura released him, tried to pull away, but it was a halfhearted retreat, easily thwarted. He pulled her in and gave her his mouth.

It was the end of the world, and the most powerful man left slid his tongue deeply into her mouth. She opened wide in acceptance because if she told herself the truth, she would say that she'd wanted him from the very beginning, or at least from the moment he'd first taken her in his arms.

It was the end of the world, and she gave as good as she got of that first kiss. Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers slid into his coarse, silky hair, in and of itself worth the journey. Her hips moved rhythmically against him, rehearsing for sex, and he pressed his hand to the small her back, pushing her closer, letting her feel his hardness, the effect she was having on him.

It was the end of the world for her, but only for her, and not just yet. Now she was alive. Every day was a gift and there was still life to be lived, and love to be felt, and pleasure to be experienced. She was rumpled and unwashed and felt every bit of it... but that seemed not to matter to the man who unbuttoned and unzipped and unlaced and unwrapped her. It felt so much like a clandestine teenage frak in the woods, the only sop to maturity being the single question he asked her, to which she responded in the negative. But what it was didn't matter, because all they had was now.

Now was for kissing and tasting and touching... feeling. And when he got her bare from her waist down, she unfastened his pants and took his rigid cock in her hand. "Not much to work with, is there," he said, his breathing ragged, and she looked up to find him grinning. Could one do anything but respond in kind when confronted with that smile?

"I think we can manage," she said, rewarding him with her own smile.

"Good," he said. He would say that several times before they finished.

He sat back down on the boulder, his jacket spread beneath him to cushion her knees as she climbed astride him. Their hands met in between and the two of them guided him in. She gasped as he penetrated her, a sound so musical it seemed to have notes. She spread her legs wider and he slipped deeper into her.

Touch... she could feel him touch her deep inside where only love was allowed to go. _It's not love,_ she thought as she rocked her hips, moving him, moving them both. He held her by her waist and he could feel her liquid motion as she pleasured herself. She was all about taking and he gloried in it. He winced, moaned as she dug her nails into his shoulders, her movements stronger, faster as she worked toward her climax. Her scent intoxicated him, her moans of pleasure set the blood singing in his head. She leaned back, seeking a different pressure inside her. He held on, supporting her weight. She slowly rotated her hips, then froze. He began to thrust, ineffectually in the position he was in. "Go ahead," he said hoarsely. "Take it all..."

"No." She shook her head. Her eyes were wide and her face flushed as she stared at him waiting... waiting...

He pulled her to him, hard enough to hurt. She uttered a squeaky gasp and he encircled her with one arm. He slipped his hand between them and slowly, deliberately stroked her swollen clit.

"Yes," she whispered. It sounded almost conversational, might have been except she was staring into his eyes and he could see into her soul. She slipped her hand between them, reached past his own hand and touched his cock, rock-hard and slick with her juices. He made a noise that might've been a word, but neither of them was sure nor would they ever be. He was looking into her eyes (the color of dreams) and could see the moment that she came. Her pupils opened like flowers to the sun, and then he felt her sweet pussy spasming around his cock, and then her mouth opened in a silent scream and then he knew nothing else but the flying, the falling, the release as he came inside her and her keening moan in response to the sensation.

He held on to her tightly. He'd died but it hadn't stuck. He was old and being old was the definition of survivor. He wasn't sure he'd survive loving Laura Roslin, but he was old and being old also meant that, sooner, his status as survivor would come to an end.

His solitude had come to an end.

He lay back and pulled her down with him, and now she was draped over his barrel chest like something that had washed up on a beach. She smiled at the image that thought conjured.

"What's so funny?" Adama asked. He couldn't see her face but he could feel her smile, against his sweater and the skin beneath it, in the air molecules that surrounded them. He turned his nose into her thick mahogany hair, smelled the distant memory of shampoo beneath which lay the essential scent of Laura, a scent he was certain he could identify, blindfolded in a room with a thousand women.

"Détente," Laura said, slurring the word blissfully.

Adama chuckled. "Do you think it'll last?"

"If we want it to," Laura murmured. She pulled his turtleneck down with one finger and buried her nose in his neck. He smiled and caressed her hair, completely understanding her impulse to seek out his scent.

"There'll be hell to pay," he said.

"Then I'll pay it." Laura pushed herself up. She stared down at him, her hair framing her face. He thought she looked the same as she had before they made love. He thought she looked like a woman who had just made love. "I don't have much time left, Bill... but I want that time to have a little happiness in it."

"You deserve it," Adama said.

Laura shook her head. "Whether or not I deserve it doesn't matter. I'm going to take it."

"So long as you take it from _me_," Adama growled.

Laura gave him a smug smile and climbed off. They dressed in silence. After giving each other tacit approval of the other's appearance, Laura paused to lay her hands on Adama's chest. She looked up at him and he kissed her deeply, for a long time.

"Of course I'll take it from you," she whispered when he finally released her. Her gray eyes were wide and glowing in anticipation of pleasure. "You owe me."

-end


End file.
